Antipathy
by Soul Under
Summary: This is not a story with a deeper meaning. There is no moral at the end. Psychological.
1. two tickets

**an·tip·a·thy**

[an-tip-uh-thee]

–_noun,__plural_-thies.

1. a natural, basic, or habitual repugnance; aversion.

2. an instinctive contrariety or opposition in feeling.

3. an object of natural aversion or habitual dislike.

* * *

...

_This is not a story with a moral at the end... there is no deeper meaning. _

_This is a story about hatred and mourning; two traits that should not co-exist. _

...

_This is not a story of fairytale romance and love... there is no happy ending._

_This is a story about the art of letting go._

...

* * *

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**two tickets torn in half**

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.**  
**

"Well, you're the last person I'd expect to come visit me, Shizuo."

That was it - all he deems worthy of saying. No cutesy pet names with a scathing sarcasm; no arrogant smirk or mocking laugh. There was only a calm silence that screamed horror; cream colored walls matching with blue and white bedsheets. The steady beeping of a heart monitor reigned as the only form of music; an IV next to it steadily drips fluids into a thin arm.

Shizuo is panting, still trying to catch his breath from where he stands in the doorway; demeanor mirroring something akin to shock towards the figure before him. He keeps his attention locked on the others face; roaming over the docile expression – barest forms of a smile that in no way showed happiness, eyes that are filled with a complete resignation and acceptance.

Still standing upright, dripping all over the tiled floor with a nearly manic look, Shizuo waits for some form of insult – something to show that the person before him, was _still_ _him_ – but it never comes. Instead he is merely greeted with a melancholic atmosphere so serene and unfitting it makes him want to choke.

This is a stranger wearing a familiar face – a face that has never once adorned such an expression. Shizuo wants to rip the skin off and reveal him for the fake he was; expose the true nature of the creature underneath.

Blond hair plastered against the sides of his face, and his bartender suit leaden down like a sopping second skin; he takes a hesitant step forward. A small collection of water is beginning to puddle beneath him. He's still waiting for a remark on his appearance, and Shizuo thinks he hates that small, sad smile more than he ever hated that arrogant fucking smirk.

He swallows thickly, not making another move to get closer – a good 5 feet between himself, and the only other occupant in the room.

"...Izaya?" His voice a rough thing; broken glass scraping against low cords, and he has to make sure to regulate his breathing to keep from puking. He can't seem to form any other words, and his arms are beginning to prickle with goosebumps from being wet in an air conditioned room.

The brunet in question merely gives a small tilt of his head in acknowledgment; expression tired and drawn, and he looks every bit of worn as a war veteran. Shizuo guesses, in way, he just might be. No other movement is made in the room, the beeping of the heart monitor continues uninterrupted; and Shizuo finds it to be a depressing and heart-wrenching sound.

Outside the rain is beginning to pick up again; starting to thrum against the single large window pane next to the bed that Izaya occupied. The curtains are drawn open and he can see flooding water spread against the glass, thumping against the side of the building in an almost soothing manner. He can make out the tree's that lull in the distance; he recognizes it as the tiny park outside of the building, meant for patients with a permanent stay.

He briefly wonders if Izaya has ever gone out there.

.

* * *

_a lot of nothing to do_

_

* * *

.  
_

It's just a small off-hand comment – a slight joke that isn't all that funny; and it ended like this. Shizuo is in a much more crabby and irritable mood than usual today, and he mentions by way passing that he was thinking about going to Shinjuku so he could beat out some frustration. Chasing down and murdering that flea is always something of a good stress reliever.

"_And what – do you expect him to swing his IV at you?"_ Celty types out on her PDA, and Shizuo chews thoughtfully on the cigarette hanging between his lips.

He's leaning back against the kitchen counter that resides inside the apartment of his two best friends. He grunts out in response; thinks that she was making some joke that went over his head, and idly checks his cellphone. He digs his hands into his pockets to revive a more relaxed position.

Celty clicks her hand over the PDA in swift movements; stops, erases her previous message and types out a new one in afterthought. _"...You mean you don't know?"_

The question confuses Shizuo, but he immediately decides he doesn't really care all that much. "Know what?" He says back, huffing out a small cloud of tobacco. He thinks Shinra is taking too fucking long – they were all supposed to eat dinner together tonight, but the other male has yet to show up. He's really hungry and honestly feels like just ditching right here and now and heading down to Russia Sushi by himself.

The air grows a little bit tense; though, Shizuo doesn't fully realize it. He's not exactly sensitive to the emotions of others; always too much of a basket case himself to even be able to adapt to social analysis. He can tell, though, that Celty looks a bit awkward for a moment, before she shows him the screen again.

"_Izaya has been in the hospital these past 2 months; it's why you haven't seen him. He's got a brainstem glioma – it's a tumor and it's cancerous." _

Shizuo has to re-read the message a couple of times before he begins to process the information. Celty notices this and makes to clear the message; quickly typing out a new one to take it's place.

"_He's dying."_

He lifts a hand to touch at the cigarette between his lips by way of musing, and he glances down at that floor as he speaks; "How long does he have?" If you asked him now why exactly he even said that, he wouldn't be able to give you and answer; because he himself doesn't even know.

Celty's body looks a little bit less tense at his calm and instantaneous response; how she expected him to respond was the mystery. She clicks out a new message.

"_A few weeks, at most."_

There are papers littering the desk in the living room; and Shizuo wonders if they are all revolving around the subject of her birthright, and clues as to the location of her missing head. Smoke curls from his lips as he stares complacently at the small mess, and he gives a slight nod.

"Mm, that's too bad." He says, and removes the cigarette from his lips so he can grind it out in the ashtray that had been provided for him.

And here, fourty-five minutes later Shizuo finds himself back at his small, single apartment after having ditched Celty and Shinra on the idea of dinner. He's not hungry anymore, and he's not exactly sure why. Right now he may be rather calm and complacent, but after today he's not going to be able to sleep easy and he will continuously forget to eat. After today, he's not ever going to be the same - but he doesn't know that now; not yet.

He's sitting on the gritty dark brown carpet that decorates his living room floor, and there is a phone-book spread out before him. He flips through pages of hospitals and clinics, punching different numbers into his cell and his dialogue is on repeat.

"Yeah, hi..." he says; rehearsed. "I was wondering if you might have a patient by the name of Orihara, Izaya at your...ah... no... Yes, sir. Thank you."

He nods his head a little – already expecting the same response he's gotten several times before, and hits the 'end' button. He immediately skips down to the next hospital listed, and dials a new number. He reiterates the same words he'd spoken about fifteen times previous, only this time he gets a different response. He perks up a bit when the woman on the other line asks his relationship, to which Shizuo unthinkingly replies; "He's my brother."

Shizuo quickly jots the hospital's address onto the back of his hand in pen, adding in Izaya's room number at the bottom after the woman discloses the information to him. She wants to know why Shizuo had not visited him earlier because Orihara's been here for quite a while, and Shizuo snaps his phone shut without answering her. He tells himself he's only doing this as a way of conformation; and if he repeats that a few more times, he just might start to believe it a little more than he does now.

He glances at his watch, and tries to mentally calculate just how long it's going to take him to get there. It's going on eight o' clock, and if he leaves now he should make it to the hospital and have some time; visiting hours don't end until about ten, if he remembers correctly.

Shizuo tucks his phone back into his pocket and makes for the door; intent on starting his long walk towards Shinjuku. He considers getting a taxi, but he knows he doesn't have that kind of money to blow one something so overly expensive. He likes exercise, anyway.

It's a bit cold outside, and the cloud's hanging overhead emanate the impending rain that will likely come soon. Shizuo doesn't particularly care; but he does frown at the thought of ruining the uniform his brother had bought for him. Dry cleaning might be a forced option sometime in the future, he predicts. His pocket vibrates with a text, and he ignores it completely.

Passing by Russia Sushi, he can clearly see Celty and Shinra seated at the bar inside and he almost feels a bit guilty. Simon waves fliers at him, pressing for him to come inside and "eat delicious sushi", but Shizuo shakes his head and turns away from him.

He knows there was no offense taken, though he fully understands that there will likely be a small lecture of some kind later; something about being more sociable and polite. He digs out his cigarettes and lites himself a new one at that thought.

It will actually be several months before he ever steps foot inside Russia Sushi again. But he doesn't know that – not yet.

He's just a few minutes from the hospital when it starts pouring down rain and his mood instantly sours. It's already dark outside and all the street lights are like bright beacons through the hazy downpour. He has to step up on the side of the grass as he's walking towards the entrance of the hospital; and ambulance screeches past him in a hurry.

The automatic doors slide open at his approach, and once inside the cool air conditioned building, he shakes his head roughly like some kind of dog; sending water flipping every which way. The woman behind the desk gives him a scandalous look, but Shizuo doesn't blame her; doesn't take it to heart. He's going to have to buy new cigarettes after he leaves, he's certain the ones in his pocket are soggy and ruined. He wonders his is cellphone has taken any water damage; he doesn't have insurance on it.

"Hello..." He says, trying to be polite despite his sodden and scanty state of dress. "I need to check in. I'm here to visit Orihara, Izaya."

The woman behind the desk clears her throat but chooses not to say anything about his appearance. She hands him yellow slip of paper pinned to a clipboard, and he shows his I.D while she talks out something about behavioral process. Shizuo doesn't listen to a word of it and quickly signs his name before handing the clipboard back. The woman is still talking about something, and there is a rather haggard looking man pestering a nurse to his right.

Shizuo receives his visitors name tag, to which he halfheartedly slaps to his shirt without much thought. He has to glance down at his hand for moment; has to remind himself of Izaya's room number and he ignores the nurse as she points him in the correct direction. He'd rather figure it out for himself than have someone tell him.

The cool air is getting to him a bit, and he shivers lightly as he takes sloppy wet steps down the corridor. He has to take the elevator to the 3rd floor, but luckily he is alone the entire time. Patients and nurses give him odd looks as he passes by; and Shizuo thinks he must look something of a drowned dog to receive so much attention.

The numbers slowly start to count up and up until he's just a few rooms off from his correct destination. The door to room 338 is already ajar, and for some reason Shizuo expects his enemy of an Informant to jump out from the opening and laugh at him; pretend this was all some really bad joke and insult his sloppy looking appearance.

No such thing happens, however, but Shizuo still cautiously approaches in a slow manner. He places one hand on the door frame before turning to fully enter the room.

Izaya rest on the only hospital bed in the room; inclined so he can sit up comfortably. His head is turned away and he stares contemplatively out the large window pane near him; watching the rain flood the outside of the thick glass.

Feeling his breath catch, Shizuo can't tear his gaze away from the sight. A couple of small but heavy footsteps are all it takes gain the brunet's attention, and he calmly turns a bit to assess him without a hint of hostility or aggression.

Shizuo doesn't know who the occupant in the bed is – because he most certainly cannot fucking be the man he'd fought to kill for so long. The ashen pale skin and overly thin body could not house his enemy. Shizuo feels incredibly cheated and fooled.

.

* * *

_bad thoughts in my head_

_

* * *

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_

"...Izaya?"

He doesn't know how long the two of them remain still; Shizuo himself staring wordless, whilst the brunet gives him a small, sad smile. There's nothing hostile or arrogant about Izaya's expression; he looks more raw than anything, but Shizuo still wants to punch him in the face – anything to bring back the cocky, biting smirk. It's that thought that leaves him the most confused.

He calms himself a little; still in a bit of a shocked state, but more numb now than anything else. Clears his throat for a moment as though he's feeling awkward all of a sudden, and there is a chair near Izaya's bed. Cautiously, Shizuo moves to take it, where he sits in silence, staring down at the pale blue and white bedding and trying his best to ignore the way the brunet is staring at him so intently.

"Celty... told me that you were here." Shizuo mutters; a small tool to break the tense silence that had fallen. The thumping of the rain against glass, and the beeping of Izaya's heart monitor weren't doing anything to make him feel more comfortable.

"I see." Izaya says softly; no hint of condescending sarcasm.

The brunet looks so thin and frail, and Shizuo can't help but run it through his head how painfully easy it would be to reach out and snap that pale neck. He doesn't think that Izaya will fight him on it – he doesn't look like he has much fight left in him, and Shizuo finds that to be a waste. He hates the bastard, sure, but he wouldn't deny the thrill he got from fighting him. It was always a great way to relinquish his anger and frustration; but not anymore, apparently.

Izaya lets out something of a small sigh, and tilts his face a little more so he can look at Shizuo properly. His cheek is pressed into the pillow behind his head, and he has one arm resting over his midsection while the other sets limply at his side. This is the most movement he has made since Shizuo arrived, and the blond keeps waiting for something to show this was all a prank. Still, it never comes.

Shizuo doesn't know how to react with this new – different version of Izaya. He's so used to hearing the brunet jabber on and on and on about nothing; shooting insults and barking out everything he knew would piss him off. Instead, Izaya is complacent and quiet and he acts like he is incredibly tired. Shizuo wonders if the doctors have him on painkillers or something; it certainly would explain a lot – but then again, that could just be him searching for an excuse to fool himself into believing a lie. Neither would surprise him.

Izaya blinks slowly, still staring at him with this sad little look before he speaks again; "...Why are you here?"

The question makes him feel odd and out-of-place, or some reason; but never-the-less, Shizuo raises his head to meet the brunet's look head on. He's about to fire an insult of some kind, but one look at that melancholic face makes the words die in his throat. Suddenly, he doesn't know the answer to such a simple question.

"I don't know." Shizuo says; and in all honesty, it really is the truth.

.

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TBC

i would love to hear from you. please tell me what you think.


	2. silent movie

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**a silent movie**

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**

Shizuo calls off work and spends his entire morning in the park. He was surprised that Tom didn't call him on his bullshit, because he's one of the few people who really knows him, and he knows that Shizuo _does not_ get sick. His body is sturdy and hard, and the only think he ever really falls victim to is hangovers. Yet, when he called his boss and friend early this morning and said he was too sick to work, Tom merely accepted it after a few moments of silence.

He's sitting in on a park bench; a tall Styrofoam cup of coffee resting next to him, it's contents loaded up with enough cream and sugar to make it syrupy in texture. There's a cigarette between his fingers, he has a dark blue scarf wrapped around his neck against the late autumn cold, and the sky is a pretty clear state of blue; almost as if yesterdays storm had never been. It's a bright and sunny morning, but chilly enough that he wrapped himself up in a coat and scarf, his bartender uniform underneath.

He tossed his breakfast roll on the ground after having torn it into little pieces, and there's a flock pf pigeons quickly gobbling it all up, and he has to wonder to himself why the birds haven't migrated yet.

Shizuo's not really sure just what exactly he's supposed to be feeling – what a proper reaction is to this kind of situation; but he doesn't feel anything. He's not angry or happy, he's not depressed or overjoyed; he's just... _numb_.

The leaves are matted and stuck to the ground from last nights rain, and Shizuo kind of wishes they would dry out soon. Childish as it may be, he likes to watch leaves flutter around. He stares mindlessly at the way the smoke curls and sifts from his cigarette; ashes breaking off the tip and scattering away with the chilly wind as gusts.

After returning home from his quick and somewhat meaningless visit from the hospital, Shizuo went through and entire pack of cigarettes before the clock struck midnight. He hasn't been to sleep yet and he feels haggard and worn down. He spent all night laying awake in his bed, tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable and trying to _get his mind to shut up_. He just sorta laid there, watching the way the moonlight shown through his window and spills across his blankets and sheets.

It had been somewhere around the fifth hour of laying there sleepless and staring at the ceiling and alarm clock and moon; he had finally given up on resting. He grabbed himself a fresh cigarette and began to pace his room back and forth in nothing but his pajama pants. His apartment was empty and quiet; he's been living alone all these years.

He idly takes a sip from his coffee; he had left the lid on it to seal in and preserve the heat so he could drink it slowly like he always does. He knows he probably looks like a wreck; bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep and ragged in appearance; but that's what happens. He doesn't remember ever having suffered a sleepless night before now.

Shizuo has to look up; giving a small wave as he sees Celty approaching him. He can't really determine how she knew where he was; but then again, Celty has always been rather in tune with other people.

She takes a seat next to him, and immediately begins to type away on her PDA. _"You look horrible."_

"Yeah, I feel horrible..." He grumbles out moodily, exhaling a thin stream of smoke with the words. Shizuo leans forward so he can place his elbows on his knees, looking to the side to properly address his friend.

"_When you left last night... you went to see Izaya, didn't you?" _

Shizuo stares blankly at the screen for a few moments, then flicks his eyes up the the empty helmet that encased her would-be head. Her ability at perception never ceases to amaze him, but he cannot help but feel guilty; as though he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.

He mumbles something that sounds akin to an agreement, and he has to look away from her so as not to show his crestfallen face, but something tells him that she already knows – she always does. "Sorry..." He says softly around the cigarette he's holding to his mouth, chin resting gently in the palm of the same hand.

Celty waves at him dismissively; giving him the signal that it was alright, and no feelings were hurt. She starts to type out on her PDA again, pausing here and there in brief moments before she shows him her response. _"You seem very sad... I honestly expected you to be happy. You hate him, right?"_

Shizuo growls a little to himself as he reads the words; they send something of a spark through him, and he once again turns away from her as he speaks. "Of course I hate him. You know that – and I'm not sad." He says gruffly and his cigarette is nearly finished out; down to the nub. "I just... I don't even know what's wrong. I don't really feel anything, to tell you the truth." He flicks the butt to the ground where he snuffs it out halfheartedly with his leather boot.

"Izaya is the worst kind of person; with everything he's done to people... everything he's done to me. This is just Karma coming in full-swing – I'm glad he's fucking suffering."

He runs a hand through his hair, cringing a bit at the oil build up and he considers going home after this to have a good shower. Celty has her hand paused over her PDA, like she's thinking of how to respond, and can't find the proper words to express herself. Finally, as though she had come to some sort of decision with herself, so slowly clicks away on the device, her movements less immediate like her usual typing. It takes a few long moments until she finally holds it out for him to read;

"_I don't like Izaya, and I never have. But... I don't believe anyone **deserves** to suffer like this. Believing that they do just makes you even worse of a person than they themselves are."_

Shizuo feels a knot build and tighten in his chest; the words strike him a little too hard and he leans back on the bench as he mulls them over. He barely registers the way a silence falls over them, and it was probably about five minutes of sitting there before Celty tells him she has to get back to work. He watches her walk away from him, in the direction of her bike that he could see parked off near the exit of the park.

He's not feeling anything in particular besides the small ache in his chest from the what she had told him, and he just sits there looking every sense the melancholic.

Taking a deep breath, Shizuo digs his cellphone out of his pocket and scrolls down his rather short contact list. He clicks on his brothers name, and stares at the options for a few moments before sucking it up and choosing 'call'. Something akin to sadness ebbs itself into his heart. The line rings a couple of times before hitting to voice-mail, and he lets out a small sigh as he lowers his hand and ends the call before a message could be recorded.

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* * *

_make me whole; i dont want half a soul_

**

* * *

**.**  
**

Izaya doesn't talk as much as he used to, Shizuo noticed.

He's called off work for the second time, and it's his second visit in the hospital. Izaya always either has a severe headache, is sleeping, or is too nauseous to do much when Shizuo comes to see him. It's beautiful outside today, and the air is just warm enough that the window in his hospital room is open. The door to 338 is almost always ajar; something that the blond will quickly picked up on over the consistent visits that will soon follow.

"You never answered me, you know..." The soft voice draws Shizuo's attention, and he looks up from the magazine he's flipping though. They don't really have any conversations, often opting more to sit in silence as Shizuo reads what he's brought with him, and Izaya stares solemnly out the window. He's been nauseous most of the morning, and Shizuo came in around 10am; just in time to watch the brunet puke into an emesis basin while a pretty young nurse attended him.

"'Bout what?" The blond grunts back in response, as he returns he attention to the article he's reading in his lap. The white curtains shift and flutter with each cool breeze that passes in through the window.

Izaya emits a small sigh as he turns his head to face the other. "About why you're here... why you came back."

Later, Shizuo will hear these words echo in his head over and over in a way that drives him to flirt with insanity.

But that's not yet; not now.

Shizuo has to stop for a moment so he can re-evaluate what he's going to say in response. It's so normal – so habitual, and he wants to list off insults and reasons why Izaya should suffer and burn in hell, but they all get stuck in his throat, because he can't stop thinking about what Celty said to him. His enemy looks even paler today, mouth turned into a small frown and his eyes are half lidded as though he's extremely exhausted. Shizuo knows the feeling.

"Yeah, and I already told you. 'I don't know'," he repeats as though the brunet didn't hear him clearly the first time. Shizuo barely slept three hours last night, and his tolerance was boiling away into apathy and agitation. He's had about a collective of three hours of 'sleep' ranged over the past three days, and he's never felt so tired and annoyed in his life.

"Right, of course.." Izaya murmurs; and there's that sad fucking smile again. The blond wishes that he wouldn't do that if it was so painfully obvious he didn't mean it.

Shizuo glances up from his magazine again, as Izaya closes his eyes and lets out a heavy exhale. He thinks the former informant is going to sleep yet again, but his voice sounds; just as soft and breathed as it had been since he first saw him in here.

"You hate me, Shizuo." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yeah. I do," is the blond's response as he stares at that pale face which harbors a mixture of pain and relaxation, and Izaya slowly opens his eyes. They've dulled in color; no longer like fresh blood, but something more akin to brick dust.

The movement is weak and it's obvious it takes him a lot of effort. Izaya gently lifts one of his hands, reaching out a little as though he wants to touch Shizuo, but his movement falls short as he backtracks his own actions. He draws his hand back, letting it fall across his abdomen and he tilts his head back towards the window. He looks tired again.

"Go to sleep." Shizuo orders without taking his eyes away from his magazine. He's read the same line over and over again, and he's still not quite sure what it had said, but he continues to pretend like it's holding his interest.

"Why... so you can kill me?"

He tries hard; very, very hard not to look up at that comment. Shizuo can't let the brunet know it affects him so harshly; the reasoning in which, he's confused with himself.

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny." Izaya says and gives something akin to a tiny chuckle but it comes out as more of a small breathy laugh. Shizuo glances up from the article to meet the brunet's sad gaze. He's suddenly hit with the desire to reach over and shake him until he was _Izaya_ again. He has to swallow thickly to himself and let out a frustrated huff as he snaps his magazine closed to show his agitation in the matter. The former informant doesn't seem at all effected by his aggravation.

"You look worse than me," Izaya comments by way of observation, and this is the most Shizuo has heard him speak out of both his combined visits. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

The blond in question shoots him a tiny glare as he tosses his magazine on the small table at Izaya's beside. He runs a hand through his hair in an irritated manner, and he rises to his feet with a small growl. "That's none of your fucking business."

Looks like he's reached his limit for today. Shizuo's already annoyed and exhausted and he doesn't want to have to look at his enemy right now. It hurt's, and he can't determine why. Turning his back on the other man, Shizuo starts towards the door only to have a quiet voice halt him in his halfhearted steps.

"...Are you leaving?"

Izaya sounds sad; Shizuo registers, and he moves a little so he can look back at the brunet. He hasn't moved much, still lying back against pillows and staring at him with an unreadable expression that he can't decipher. He wishes he had better empathy towards other peoples emotions, and he re-thinks his previous intent and actions. He wonders, in that brief moment; if Izaya actually _has_ any visitors besides himself – if anyone even cares that he'll be dead in a few weeks.

"No," he decides with an almost defeated tone; guilty. "I was just going out to have a smoke."

It was partially the truth; Shizuo was craving nicotine to calm his jittery nerves, and this was the perfect excuse without seeming like a complete asshole. He wishes he had the strength to turn his back on the man and never return – to read his name in the Obituary's without a sense of shame or remorse; but he doesn't. Celty was right.

When Izaya makes no response, Shizuo continues out the room on his original path.

Once he's outside with a fresh cigarette between his lips, Shizuo steps until his back touches the building a few feet to the side of the entrance. He slides himself down to the cement, stretching one leg out before him and keeping the other bent as he breathes white smoke into the nippy air. He rests one elbow on his bent knee so he can hold the cigarette in place; fingers curled around his chin and mouth. With his free hand he digs his cellphone out, and clicks speed-dial for a number that's been called all to many times before. The line rings and rings and Shizuo has to mentally chant '_pick up, please pick up... please, come on; pick up, pick up, pick up...'_

A click is heard as the ringing stops, and a voice comes on – a voice he knows like the back of his hand – who tells him 'I'm sorry I missed your call' and 'leave a message at the tone' and Shizuo feels a little desperate. He's feeling lost and alone, even though there's several people outside before him and he can see paramedic's rushing someone into the ER on a stretcher.

"Hey, Kasuka..." He starts when the tone signals him. He stops and swallows; tries to get his voice to sound a little stronger and a little more confidant. "I, uh... I left two other messages already... I don't know if you got them. I know you're busy, and all... but, um...I really need to talk to you. So, just - …...please call me when you can...?" He lowers his head back against the building, and his cigarette is held barely an inch form his lips.

"Okay. I'll... talk to you later... bye."

Shizuo snaps his phone shut and drops it into his lap as he stares at the clear blue sky hanging overhead. A few hot ashes flake down to his other hand, and the nicotine from his cigarette does nothing to curb the hollow feeling in his chest.

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* * *

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an:

please review and tell me what you think. i would love to hear from you.


	3. last stop

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**last stop for a resolution**

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When he leaves the hospital, Shizuo gets drunk – something he hasn't done in a very long time. He's never been one to drink; always too afraid he might let himself get out of control and do something he'd regret.

His movements are fumbled and he's tripping all over the place as he heavily pulls himself up the stairs to his apartment. At one point he falls against the steps; sprawled across them in a way that probably makes him look like some kind of washed up drug addict. But he's tired and he still hasn't slept and all he wants to do is make it into his tiny fucking apartment so he can sleep.

He lifts his head so he can look at the distance that still remains until he's at the top; his world tilts a bit from the awkward angle he's looking at, and he continues to lay where he is like dead weight. It looked like it would take too much effort, and he's not very sure of his balance right now – not sure if he can stand upright again.

Taking a few minutes to compose himself a little, Shizuo finally reaches up to the side railing. Finding a good grip he lifts himself up into a halfway standing position. He staggers unceremoniously up the stairs until he's standing in front of his apartment door. Shizuo jiggles the knob, but it doesn't open and he stares at it dumbly trying to figure out what's wrong. Somewhere amongst the fog in his brain, it registers; and he searches his pockets for his keys.

"Fuck..." He mumbles to himself as he tries and fails to stick the key into the lock. His hands don't want to co-operate, and his motor skills are completely shot.

Shizuo lets a tiny growl fall from his lips as he leans forward so his forehead is pressed against the wooden frame. He closes his eyes in desperation because he's nearly positive that's he's going to fall on his face pretty soon, and his hands continue to jiggle the doorknob and key. It takes a few too many moments, but the frame is suddenly swung open from his pressed weight after successfully unlocking it, and Shizuo stagger's heavily into his apartment. He nearly falls to his knees for a moment, but catches himself on the walls.

Kicking the door shut behind him, he doesn't bother locking because he honestly doesn't care enough right now. It's late into the afternoon and the sunlight his shining through the balcony door in his tiny living room. He strips off his jacket and scarf; kicking off leather shoes so he can leave them all in a pile near his door as he walks slowly and unsteadily towards his single bedroom. Twenty-four years old, and he still lives alone – still hasn't had a relationship that's lasted longer than one night. Shizuo's never been more depressed when he thinks about that.

He leans heavily on the walls in the small hallway for support as he finally makes it into his bedroom. He stumbles here and there in the direction of his bed, and the moment his knees touch the mattress he lets himself fall forward. He presses his cheek into the mussed sheets and blankets, and he's still fully dressed in his bartender suit. He can't bring himself to care enough to get undressed.

.

* * *

_end of the line_

* * *

.

Shizuo lets out a soft moan at the comfort of his own bed, and buries his face deeper into the softness before his body finally gives in and he falls asleep from the combination of exhaustion and alcohol.

The breeze is fresh, if not a little bit chilly – but Shizuo enjoys the crispness of the air. The surf curls and flourishes; drifting forward and back against the shore while creating smooth and relaxing melodies. The sky is completely clear and spotless, and the ocean looks as if it goes on forever and ever; meeting with the sky in the horizon, a beautiful mixture of blues. The waves shift and twist; flooding over rocks before retreating once more, and sand sifts through his toes and fingers.

It's early in the morning; the sun isn't very high, and Shizuo smokes quietly from his secluded little spot. He's alone on the beach, left with nothing but his own thoughts as he stares contemplatively out at the sea. He tabs his toes against the cool and gritty sand for a moment, wondering briefly to himself just where in the hell his shoes went. He couldn't remember taking them off.

Shizuo has always loved the beach; the ocean was something calm and soothing, even looking past the fact that he hadn't been out here in years on end. He wants to let himself fall back against the sand and look up at the sky in the way he used to do when he was little; sunbathe and breathe in the unpolluted air he can't seem to find anywhere in Ikebukuro.

Nothing against his home; Shizuo has always loved that city, but he loves peaceful and calming surroundings much more. He can't help but ask himself if Izaya's ever been to the beach – but he already knows the answer to that question. Their interests have always opposed each other; it's not like they ever had anything in common. They were strangers who have known each other for going on 9 years. He didn't even know Izaya's favorite color.

His cigarette is nearly finished out before he even realizes it, and Shizuo tosses the butt a few feet away from him; watching the way it smolders in the sand. The smoke is hardly even visible due to the feathering gusts that float through across the area; mixing in to clear out the air and his hair shifts with the wind. He shakes his head a little to get his bangs out of his eyes, and he notices that he's not wearing his sunglasses. A small frown graces his lips, and he looks around himself but doesn't see his glasses or shoes anywhere in sight. Rubbing the fingers of one hand against his forehead, he tells himself that it's alright and he'll find them later; when he's getting ready to leave.

A shadow casts over him; dark and looming and it stretches out before him as though someone was standing behind him and blocking out the bright sunlight. Knitting his brows together at the realization, he tilts his head back a little to as to tell the fucker off, but his words fall short as a quick flash of metal shines in his eyes and he can hear a sickening squish of a noise.

He blinks in confusion because his world tumbles, and he finds himself much lower to the sand than he originally was. His throat aches a bit and he can't determine why; one look up answers his deafening questions.

Shizuo finds himself staring up at a body he knew all too well; a body that was his own, now pulsing blood from the upper neck where a head was supposed to be sitting. All he can do his gape in horror; watching the soon to be corpse slump to the side and hit the sand with a soft 'thump'. His mocha eyes flick to the side, up at the figure that was still looming over him.

Izaya Orihara meets his gaze dead on; his expression completely blank and calm and his red eyes are much to bright.

"Shizu-chan..." The brunet murmurs to him, voice soft and robbed of the sharp edginess he'd grown to accustomed to over the years.

.

* * *

_is it confusion?_

* * *

.

Shizuo's eyes snap open and he's hit with the sudden onset of confusion. He doesn't know where he's at, what time it is – dear god, Izaya just cut his fucking head off. Panicked; his movements seem slow and a bit contorted but he manages to bring his hands up where they clasp around the clammy and cool skin of his neck. He can feel his pulse pounding under his fingertips, and he trails them up until he meets his jaw, determining by way of confirmation that his head was still attached to his body, and he wasn't dying.

Swallowing thickly, he grimaces at the stale taste in his mouth and he's staring up at the ceiling in his bedroom. Breathing heavily, he pants in mild attempts at catching his breath, and when he moves to sit up his world tips and shifts at the movements. He groans irritatedly to himself as it becomes apparent that he's still a bit drunk. He didn't sleep long enough to ward off the effects, and his stomach is already starting to churn and protest against making any sort of movement.

He's not even aware of what he's doing but his chest aches and he's being flooding with so much fucking sadness he's not even sure what to do with himself. The agony inside is so intense and painful that it almost feels physical.

"F-fuck," he groans, reaching out haphazardly towards his nightstand where his cellphone sits idle. He knocks the alarm clock off in his attempt at grabbing it; his motor skills still a bit shot from the drunken stupor that his body was still experiencing. Successfully palming the small device, he lets himself fall back against his mattress as he presses his speed-dial; ringing on a number he's called all too many times before.

He's not even remotely surprised this time when the noise stops short; heading on to the prerecorded voice-mail that was was becoming more and more acquainted with. This was getting fucking ridiculous.

"Kasuka..." He starts by way of greeting, once the tone alerts him to start talking. Shizuo knows he sounds pathetically drunk, but in that moment he didn't care anymore. "Your voice-mail is... like my new best friend. It's fucking mean that you having called me, you know... And, so – I... I just had this dream, where, like... remember that beach tha-that we went to when we were little? I was there... and... Izaya cut off my head. But I'm s-sure that you don't care about any of that, right? Haha..." He finds himself chuckling lowly into the phone, and his own grief threatens to choke off his words. There's pressure behind his ears; pushing down against the sides of his jaw at the way he's holding it all in.

Shizuo is getting ready to go on further; to spit out an insult due to how dejected he feels about his little brother not answering his phone for him, but he can't seem to articulate his thoughts anymore. Instead he falls quiet as he stares up at his ceiling in a distressed manner; as though he's waiting for Kasuka to start talking to him, even though in his hazy state he knows it's impossible.

The recording process ends, and he hears a robotic voice asking him he he wanted to re-record his message, or leave it as it was. Pulling the phone away from his ear, Shizuo debated on it for a moment before he pressed a single button that erased his message and restarted the process. Holding the phone back up to properly speak into it, he closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh.

There is so much he wants to say, but his new message doesn't voice any of it.

"...Call me."

.

* * *

.

fucking short chapter. i'm really sorry. there will be a lot more izaya soon. i'm also writing a companion piece that takes place over izaya's time; inverted from this one, which focuses on shizuo.

his dream had significance. decapitation means that there is a truth you are unwilling to see. looking out into the ocean, means an abrupt change in your life that you have yet to adapt to.

please review and tell me what you think.


	4. pressure days

**.  
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**pressure of days**

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"When was the last time you showered? You smell like a liquor cabinet."

Izaya looks like hell, but Shizuo is pretty much certain that he, himself, looks worse at this point. The brunet is right, though; he feels gritty and there's oil build up in his hair which hangs loosely before the dark shadows under his eyes. He's done nothing but drink heavily since his last visit to the hospital three days ago. He still hasn't been to work. He's baiting himself, and waiting for the moment in which Tom forcefully confronts him about his absentee.

The former informant wrinkles his nose a little bit as if to mimic disgust in the blond's smell, and Shizuo can't help but notice that this is the closet the man has come to actually acting like _Izaya_ again. If he were to be more honest with himself, he would give anything to hear the brunet speak that horrid nickname that once drove him to homicidal extremes. He just wants things to go back to the way it was; even if he'd never be able to look at his adversary the same again.

"Shut the fuck up," Shizuo growls, if only to push the atmosphere to something more comfortably familiar. Izaya's bed is only inclined a little bit, today, and he has one arm raised to he can weakly rub at his temple with his fingertips. Shizuo knows this must be a 'bad day', given the brunet's slightly irritable disposition as well as appearance.

Letting out a small sigh, Izaya turns his face away as the blond takes his seat near the edge of the hospital bed. He slides his eyes closed with the bit of reluctance he'd shown, pain written evidently across his features.

"Alright," he murmurs in response, causing dept collector at his side to freeze in surprise at the words.

Swallowing thickly as if he doesn't know how to go about expressing just how that word makes him feel; Shizuo averts his eyes to the magazine he'd snatched from the nurses station, if only to make it look like he wasn't bothered by the man's temperament. The Izaya he knew was a disgusting little maggot that would never even think to compromise with anyone – let alone the person he's called his enemy for all these years.

"Don't worry about it," Shizuo mutters quietly; awkward, due to not knowing how to react to this sort of situation.

Things fall quiet after that; Shizuo pretends to read while Izaya stares tiredly out the window with a slightly tightened expression. The blond knows the brunet is probably maxed out on morphine, judging by the 'out of it' look in the man's eyes, and he has to question to himself why exactly he's still in pain, with all of the sedatives pumping through his system.

The window is open again, and the breeze that flows in is a little bit chilly. It's cloudy outside today, though there's no sign of rain. Shizuo thinks about going over to slide the glass shut, because the cool air might be too cold for Izaya's state, and he stops that train of thought in surprise. If the fucker is cold, then so be it; it isn't any of his business, and he tells he doesn't care about the brunet's well being.

"I didn't think you would come back," Izaya says, and despite the softness of his voice, he sounds every bit raw and pained. Shizuo can't help but think that the former informant not only looks, but _sounds_ completely and utterly pathetic.

"Neither did I," Shizuo states, honestly.

A sad smile makes it's way to Izaya lips as he stares contemplatively out the window pane; wishing, wanting. Outside looks desaturated due to the lack of sunshine, but he can see the tops of the trees in the park. His eyes sting sharply, and he chalks it up to not blinking enough and there's a lump in his throat that he has to swallow around. His head isn't the only thing that hurts; but his chest as well. Like there's a black hole; wide and gaping and sucking away everything like a vacuum until there's nothing left but pain.

"Shizuo..."

The blond in question raises his head at the sound of his name spoken to eloquently – so sadly. His jaw clenches tightly at the look on the brunet's face; so fucking heartbreaking, and those brick-red eyes are just a bit too wet for normal, though too dry for tears.

"I'm sorry," Izaya whispers, and he doesn't tear his gaze away from the window as he speaks.

Later, when Shizuo is desperate for consolation of the grief he unknowingly bears, he'll look back on that apology and seek refuge in the simplicity of the inclination.

"You... fucker," the blond starts; he feels hurt by the former informants words, though he cannot fathom why. His words feel choked off – there's so many things that he wants to say; he wants to yell, scream, and shred the man to pieces; but the hurt inside of him holds him back.

The magazine hits the tiled floor with a sharp 'slap', and Shizuo threads his fingers through his hair in irritation as he stands. This is all going too far, and he's not sure just how much he can handle. He considers bolting from the room, just like that, but instead he finds himself walking towards the window that Izaya has placed so much attention in.

He leans forward against the pane as he thinks; shakes his head as he lets out a short exhale that sounds something like a blend between an exasperated sigh, and a curt-mocking laugh. Gripping his fingers into tight fists, Shizuo caves in to his impulse, as he sharply turns to look at the object of his disdain, while he continues to lean forward against the window pane.

"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" Shizuo demands; voice raised just slightly to express the building frustration he's had towards the brunet.

Izaya doesn't respond as he slowly raises his eyes, and the pain within them is too much for the blond to handle – he can't take this, not right now. As selfish as it may be, he's not strong enough to deal with all of this; it's too much at once.

Letting out the soft laugh that falls flat with a hollow sadness, Shizuo shakes his head as he drops his arms to his sides. He feels absolutely desolate and hopeless, and he's not sure just exactly how he's supposed to accept this sort of reality.

"...What the hell do you want from me?" He tries again, and Izaya furrows his eyebrows in a way that fully expresses his mournful melancholy.

"Why are you _here, _Shizu-chan?"

That was it – the single name he never realized he'd love to hear so much from the person he hated with a passion. It was almost like he could illusion himself; make himself believe that this was all still just a joke and that his enemy wasn't dying. The fantasy was better than the truth, and he would continue to push himself into believing a lie that would never come to be.

"Don't call me that," the blond bites out, but his words aren't nearly as hostile as he was hoping. He's avoiding the question and they both know it.

Izaya's eyes slips closed for a moment as a small smile spreads on his lips; though it's unspoken, it's obvious he wants to say something about the brutes constant deflection of his question.

"And don't fucking smile like that when it's obvious you don't mean it."

At this, the former informant returns his faded red gaze to blond; mild surprise showing forth on his features. He doesn't say any of what he's thinking; instead opting for watching sadly as Shizuo turns to glare back out the single window in the room. Izaya wonders why the man hasn't left yet; it's getting to about that point, yet here he still stands.

"You're so unpredictable."

Shizuo doesn't turn his head; doesn't even bother to look over at the man in the bed as he lets out a sigh. "What's that supposed to mean," he says, and it sounds more like a statement than that of an actual question.

"I was an informant, you know," Izaya starts, his voice still soft. "Reading people was a part of the job. Picking them apart to the point that I knew everything about them within five minutes of being in the same room. But you, Shizuo... I've known you for going on nine years... and I still don't know you. I don't think I ever will," the way he says it seems more along the lines of distant musing bordering on regret, rather than that of bitter resent.

"It's not," Shizuo starts, but stops himself from continuing. He's not sure what he was going to say, anymore.

"I don't _know_ you, Shizuo," Izaya states, shifting his gaze to meet the blond's tired and nearly desperate one. "...and you don't know me."

"How... how were we supposed to?" The blond asks, letting out a breath in dejection. "It's... not like we ever actually _talked_ before."

Izaya grins softly at that, shifting just a little to press his cheek into his pillow while he looks down at the blue and white bedsheets. Eyes the color of fatigued brick dust trail from the I.V needle stuck in his arm, up the thin tube to the bag hanging on the metal rack at his side. He swallows thickly as he breathes deep.

"I actually liked you at first," Izaya amends, catching his enemy by surprise. "When I first heard of you... I wanted to get to know you. I thought, maybe, this was someone as fucked up and twisted as me. You were – are, but... two minutes into meeting you and I knew how it would end up. I could see how much you hated me. And I hated you for hating me, for seeing through me and my manipulations... like this, endless cycle of childishness."

Shizuo lets out a tiny, desperate laugh as he turns away, one hand resting on his hip while the other runs through his hair. It's physically paining him to have this talk – to be here, to go through this. He's confused; unable to process and understand why he's so disoriented with the entire situation. His mouth twitches slightly as though fighting a frown, and a heavy knot builds in his chest. He takes a moment to steady himself enough to turn back and face the other occupant in the room.

"Originally, I wanted to use you. Gain an ally of the sort," the brunet explains in a soft, monotonous tone; distant, the way one talks about everyday occurrences, or the weather. "You would be the brawn, and I would be the brain. I wanted to use you to gain more power over people. I wanted to know you for purely selfish reasons, really. But then again, everything I did in my life was selfish." He gives a sad smile at that, aged and worn with too many regrets. Shizuo knows that look all to well; he see's it in the mirror everyday.

"But," Izaya continues, looking up rather solemnly. "you and I were never friends; never even acquaintances. We were enemies, and we always will be."

Shizuo nods as he clenches his jaw, throat working as he sharply turns to glare out the single-pane window. His eyes are starting to sting and prickle, but he swallows again and holds it back, the knot in his tight pulling tighter as a full blown ache settles deep under his skin. He doesn't let his turmoil show.

"To be honest," Izaya says, not looking for a response from the other. His words are growing softer, as if the more he talks, the more energy it's burning up with his fatigued and pained state. "I'm... I've always been rather jealous of you. Even if you're a freak of nature with inhuman strength, a bad attitude and a sharp temper... you have people who care about you. You have friends, and loved ones, Shizuo. I'm completely alone. You – you have... I can't do that. I'm... _incapable_ of it, you understand? I can't _connect_ with people the way you do. You and I; we're just too different, I guess. Too opposite."

"We're not different," Shizuo speaks up, and his voice is rough as though it's been unused and choked. He's barely holding himself together – he want's to get mad. For once in his life, he want's to feel unadulterated anger flood his senses and he want's his body to throw itself into automatic while he surges on a rampage. It doesn't happen, however; and all he's left with his a hollow void that gushes an arduous ache that leaves him feeling hopeless.

"I'm glad you think so," Izaya murmurs, but his words don't hang with sarcasm. He's speaking honest and raw, and it pains Shizuo even more to comprehend such a thing.

"We're the same, Izaya," Shizuo says quietly, staring intently out the window as though he cannot physically bear to speak such words while looking directly at the one they're intended for. "I'm just - …I'm alone, too. We're the same."

"Right," Izaya murmurs while he lets out an exhale of baited breath. He turns his face away and closes his eyes, something unreadable passing briefly across his features before he falls silent and still.

Swallowing to regain himself, Shizuo furrows his eyebrows as though something outside was catching it interest, but he wasn't seeing anything; merely looking blindly in an attempt at distracting the ache he's becoming all too familiar with, as of late. When he hears no further form of speech or noise outside of the machinery and heart-monitor that reside within the room next to the only bed-ridden occupant, Shizuo finally turns to face the former informant out of curiosity.

Izaya looks serene – as serene as a dying man can. There's a melancholic heaviness about him that never existed before all of this derisive reality. The brunet has his eyes closed, face smoothed out with a quiet, lingering sadness. Shizuo thinks the man has fallen asleep until brick-dusted irises shown themselves as the former informant looks up at him without moving a single muscle. His silence seems to have effectively established the end of their previous conversation. Shizuo doesn't know whether he wanted to continue it or not, in retrospect. Talking about emotions and feelings have never been his strong suit. He's only every been able to open up about things with Tom and Celty; his version of 'opening-up' being a mockery of sorts that involves much cussing, angry words and cigarettes.

"I don't know what you want from me," the blond settles on saying once again as he drops his arms to his side, stance indicating a true desperation. He's got all the makings of a lost child – if only he knew what he was looking for.

Smiling softly, Izaya's arm curls a little tighter around his midsection as if to ward off incoming nausea. The corners of his mouth are tight; showing more bitterness in the simple gesture of counterfeit happiness and amusement.

"Neither do I."

Exasperated, the blond raises his hands once more to run through his hair, stopping to grip tight at the roots as though the sting will distract him from the lump in his throat; the burning that pricks his tired eyes. He huffs out something far too close to exposing grief, and he shakes his head as he nearly pleads. He's at the end of his rope, and they both know it.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Izaya doesn't answer at first, studying the man from the distance between them. For a moment - for a brief, sad moment; that gaze looks calculating and sharp, far too smart and clever like the maggot who terrorized a city in his spare time. But, just as quickly as it shown, the look dissipates as the brunet tilts his head just a little, a small frown settling over his lips.

"I'm not doing anything to you."

"Yeah," Shizuo says as he wipes a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes for a moment before pulling back. "It would be easier if you were, though."

"What do you mean?" Izaya questions.

"I wish I could just blame this all on you," the blond says, his voice quiet.

Nodding, Izaya doesn't look the least bit thrown off. He's not insulted or offended, but that doesn't stop him from asking; "Is that what you want?"

Shizuo breaks then, for just a mere moment as he lets his frustration show; "I want this to be your _fault_ - fucking... I want you to _deserve_ this, Izaya. I want..." He trails off at that, letting out a laugh that in no way displays of happiness. It's agonizing and hollow, and Shizuo stares down at the blue and white bed sheets and shakes his head in disbelief, as he speaks. "I want to walk out of here and never look back. I want to go on with my life like nothing happened, and not give a damn that you're rotting in some fucking hospital."

"I see," the former informant murmurs. "...You're implying that you care."

Shizuo stills at that, shifting his gaze back to the window pane as he stares silently. It's still too much to look at that shell of a man in the eyes. "What do you want, Izaya," he asks again, his tone low and sounding less questioning and more of an assertion. He's ignoring the man's previous question altogether, and they both know the answer to it.

Izaya sighs softly, and waits for the blond to look over at him again before he gives a tired smile.

"I don't want to die."

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* * *

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please tell me what you think.


	5. the champion

happy new year to all of my readers. sorry for the long wait. hiatus is over.

**.  
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**.**

**bow to the champion**

**.**

**.  
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"I'm go-... I'm going to get sick. Give me the pan."

"What?" Shizuo questions dumbfounded, glancing up from where he's been staring solemnly down at his own hands. Izaya is curled up, and leaning sideways as he braces himself on his forearms, muscles trembling in either effort or illness. His face is drained of color and shadows are pressed dark around his eyes, a mix of blues, purples and faded black.

Jumping up as his thoughts clicked, Shizuo grabs the emesis basin off of the bedside table and quickly moves to make it accessible to the other man. Izaya immediately reaches out to grasp the pan as he lurches, head bowed as he pukes without much sound. He dry heaves a few times before falling back against his pillow, knees drawing up to his chest as he lay on his side, weak arms wrapping around his stomach in a feeble attempt at making himself feel better. Shizuo retrieves the pan from where is sits on the covers before it spills and turns his back on the other; trying desperately to ignore the intense pain written across the brunets face. Walking towards the sink area, he grimaces as he dumps the basin into the drain, and runs water to rinse it out properly.

A small, hurt sound emits from behind that has Shizuo's hands shaking with nerves. When he turns back, the blond stills; empty, washed out basin holding in his fingers like he doesn't know what to do with it and he stares. Izaya's still curled up against his elevated bed, arms wrapped tight around his midsection with his knees drawn up to press his mouth and chin against. His eyes are closed, squeezed shut as his breath lets out in a staccato; hitching every few seconds.

Shizuo remains carefully still and awkward, unable to tear his gaze away from the figure on the bed, in such an obvious amount of pain. This is nothing like what he wanted before. He used to fantasize about hurting the former informant – about beating the shit out of him, or killing him – it made him happy. But this; this is not what he wanted. This is feeble, like he'd been inches away from some goal or victory, only to have it ripped from his grasp at the last moment. He's been cheated.

"What does it feel like?" Shizuo questions, voice rough in the eerily quiet room.

For once since this game of masochism began, Izaya's eyes snap open and he lashes out with a sharp tongue. His eyes are wet with tears of pain, threatening to spill over and he looks pissed beyond belief.

"What do you think it feels like?" The brunet snaps back, shoulders shaking underneath the thin cotton of his hospital gown. "What the _fuck_ do you think this feels like?"

Shizuo opens his mouth for a reply that never moves past his vocal cords, and he lets out a breath as he lowers the emesis basin down to his side. His chest aches with a foreign sympathy as he takes a few steps closer. This has been worst state he's seen Izaya in, as of yet. He's not sure how to react to seeing the man in this condition.

"Does this satisfy you?" Izaya presses, weak fingertips digging into his own forearms as his brick-dusted eyes, clouded with agony, let twin tears drop past dark lashes. "Does it fucking make you _happy_ to see me like this? Does it?"

"Do you want me to get a nurse?" Shizuo says back, completely disregarding the mans question and insinuation. He can't do this yet; he's not ready to talk about it.

"Fuck the nurses! Fuck you, fuck – _fuck you..._!" Izaya spits, trying so hard to scream in protest, but his words and insults come out with a have-sobbed hitch of breath. He grips his fingers into his shirt as it sides, and lowers his face to press against his knees. Shizuo looks down at the tiled hospital floor as he hears congested sniffs, and soft curses of pain.

He should do something; get a nurse to help, try and comfort him, laugh at him, tell him to shut up and stop bitching, but Shizuo does nothing. What does one do when the person they've fought so long to kill is lying on his death bed, crying out of the suffering he's enduring? Shizuo needs someone to tell him what to do; he cannot seem regulate his thoughts.

The hitching of breath seems to echo in the bare hospital room and the shoulders that shake don't seem to be calming anytime soon. Shizuo stands still and awkward, arms hanging useless down at his sides as he stares at the wasted man before him. He shouldn't be here, it's not right. _Neither_ of them should be here.

Something is mumbled within the verge of a sob, and everything remains still and obnoxiously tense.

Shizuo grips his fingers into the trim of his pockets and stares down at the bleached white, tiled floor.

He says nothing.

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* * *

_see your first mistake_

* * *

.

"You mind talking to me about what's going on, here?" Tom asks from where he stands in Shizuo's doorway, arms crossed over his chest while his face remains a deep-seated calm. It's been seven full days since Shizuo has last been to work; seven full days since he first visited Izaya in the hospital. "I've been patient, Shizuo, but I gotta have something to go on here."

Leaning heavily against the door frame, Shizuo scrubs a hand over his face as he rubs sleep from his eyes. His hair is greasy and stuck up every which way from tossing and turning in bed, and he knows he reeks disgustingly of cigarettes and alcohol, knows his entire apartment has probably adopted the smell. He feels almost incompetent; like he cannot take care of himself, or rather, he's lost the will to properly take care of himself. He just doesn't care anymore.

"I'm sorry," he says with a sigh.

"I know you are," Tom replies, gently. "I know – but, man, you've got to talk to me here. This can't keep going on."

Heaving a breath at the tiredness worn so deep inside, Shizuo steps back briefly as he stares solemnly down at the floor. He finally moves to the side enough to let his companion enter, and Tom doesn't voice his thoughts on the disarray of the blond's apartment; the smell of liquor to strong it makes him cringe.

Venturing further in, Tom stops a few feet away, staring down the hall towards Shizuo's room as the said man closes the door behind him with a soft click.

"I know you're going through something and I don't want to push you, but you've got me really concerned," Tom states before turning around to face the blond.

Shizuo scratches at his neck while he avoids his friends gaze, and walks over to take a seat on his couch, hands fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. The brunet follows suit, moving to sit in the recliner adjacent to the other. He remains silent as he waits for some form of acknowledgment towards their situation, and it doesn't come until Shizuo's finally lit up and taking a deep inhale on his cigarette. He keeps it near his mouth, smoke curling around his fingers as he finally looks up. The air is hazy with stale smoke and the older man resists the urge to open a window.

"I've just been having a rough time, lately," Shizuo explains, voice scratchy and dry. Tom gives a small nod at that, willing him to continue. "I guess I just... I'm just realizing some things. It's – it's complicated," he says, to the side and down, keeping his face turned away. "Something happened recently – or, well. I... I found out something recently. It happened a while ago, I guess, but I just didn't know. And now that I do – I should... I should be happy, but, I'm not. I'm anything but happy."

"Okay; it's okay, Shizuo."

"No," Shizuo says as he dips his head down, buries his face into one hand while his elbow rests on his knee. "It's not okay, and it's never going to _be_ okay."

"Hey – hey, Shizuo," Tom starts, alert and moving to the blonds side where he kneels in front of the sofa. "Hey, come on," he places a hand on the mans arm; tries to get him to look back up and face him again.

The blond shutters once, twice, as he takes a quiet sniff, keeping his face buried in his hand; hidden and ashamed. "It's stupid," he says, then. "It's so fucking stupid and I'm such a goddamn idiot. I feel like this is all a fucking joke -I can't... I _can't_, you know?"

"Alright," Tom reassures, moving to sit at the others side, placing a comforting hand on the younger mans shoulder. "Okay; what happened?"

Shizuo looks up at that; his eyes are scratchy red from lack of sleep, but they're dry of any barest forms of tears.

"I can't talk about it," he says, dragging his fingers through messy hair. "Not yet."

.

* * *

_was thinking you could relate_

* * *

.

It's not something he means to happen; it's more an accident than anything. He's decidedly drunk and depressed beyond belief, and his mind apparently thinks it's a perfect idea to visit that goddamn cockroach just to tell him off. Tell him to stop playing this game and come outside and fight, already. The nurse behind the check in station gives him a disapproving glare at his disgruntled appearance, but she's seen him here several times and lets him on through. Shizuo figures he must do a pretty good job of impersonating a sober man.

His confrontation with Tom ended with him taking 'sick leave' for the next couple of weeks, which is something so ironic that makes him want to laugh until he throws up. Tom says he needs a break, needs to rest and get himself together again. Shizuo completely agrees.

The door is ajar as always, and when Shizuo finally reaches his room, he leans against the frame and watches the bedridden shithead from a length.

Izaya looks over at him, eyes clouded with misery and agony and he's still laying on his side, knees drawn up to his chest just like he was this morning. Two visits in one day isn't something that's happened as of yet, but Shizuo thinks this is a special occasion. He's fucking sick of this little joke, and it's all gone on long enough. He enters the room on unsteady feet, and knocks the door shut behind him with a little more force than necessary, even though some part of him knows it should remain open in case of an emergency. But Izaya's not really sick so why should he?

"Stop it," he what he finally decides on snarling at the brunet, who blinks up at him with hazy eyes as Shizuo takes a few steps closer to the bed. There's a secondary IV accompanying his first, and something tells him it's more morphine. The nurses always drug him up when he's a lot of pain.

"Shizuo," Izaya voices, and it's something just over a whisper. He looks much too weak at the moment to speak louder than that, and he doesn't move in the slightest. When Shizuo had left the hospital this morning, he remembers the nurse telling him that this is one of the worst days the brunet has had, and he decidedly ignores her words.

"Stop fucking with me," Shizuo snaps, fingers curling into a fist while he stands only a foot away from the other man.

"Have... you been drinking?" Izaya asks him, brows knitting together in worry, but he doesn't make any more reaction than that.

Shizuo growls at the question, teeth baring for a moment as he sweeps in close. He doesn't waste time – doesn't even think as he's suddenly reaching out and grabbing the man. He shoves the brunet onto his back and stands at the bedside while he reaches a hand up to grip that pale throat.

"Fight back, Izaya," Shizuo commands, voice stern and unrelenting as he lets his fingers begin to tighten against the former informants skin, closing around his neck.

Izaya gasps, eyes widening and he brings his hands up to claw at Shizuo's wrist and forearm, weakly tugging and pulling as he lets out a strained, wheezing breath.

"Shiz- sh..." he tries, but is only met with the grip on his throat tightening even more until he can no longer produce any words.

"Fight back! I know you can do it, fight me, you fucking maggot!" Shizuo yells down at him, but a half-sob is the only answer he gets, and he can feel the vibration of the noise against his palm. Izaya's eyes squeeze shut as he slaps one hand against Shizuo's arm, who hardly feels the pressure. The heart monitor behind him begins to pick up in pace, beeping rabidly and loudly until he blocks out the sound entirely.

A near minute passes as Shizuo keeps his steady grip, though his resolve starts to weaken when he hears another noise emit from that throat, and those brick-dusted eyes blink open to look up at him, brimming with tears and silently begging for something.

This isn't Izaya.

Letting go almost instantly, the blond shakes his head in denial as the brunet sucks in a deep breath, letting out a strained coughing as he regains his air circulation. His once pale skin is flushed red from the physical exertion, as he stares up at Shizuo with something so eerily similar to fear. For the first time in the decade of knowing each other, Shizuo sees fear in his enemy's eyes – fear of him.

"I -" Shizuo starts, and his knees buckle as he falls to them, face nearly level with Izaya's as he lifts his hands to hold onto the blue and white blankets that spill over the edge of the man's hospital bed; needs something to ground himself, because he suddenly feels like a lost child. He leans a bit as he presses his forehead against the mattress, fingers curling into the sheets as he keeps his face hidden.

Several minutes pass in agonizing silence, as Izaya's labored breathing evens out, and the heart monitor slows down from it's previously erratic pace.

He's not expecting it, and his blood runs cold for a minute when he feels a hand threading into his bleach blond locks, rubbing gently at his scalp before smoothing at the strands in a calming manner. Shizuo shakes his head to get him to knock it off, but the hand only travels to the back of his neck where the thumb swipes back and forth.

"I'm so sick of this," he chokes out, turning his face to the side so he can look up at the brunet who stares down at him sadly. "I'm so sick of this, Izaya."

"I know," comes a whisper in response. If Shizuo weren't so drunk he'd realize it was because he'd just attempted to strangle the man; he's probably not capable of speaking any louder.

"This isn't fair – it's not fucking," he doesn't finish his sentence as a broken sob escapes from within him. He buries his face into the brunet's blanket and let's his emotions out for the briefest of moments. Izaya continues to smooth a hand through his hair, gently calming him from the ache that spreads through his chest. Boney fingers brush over his temple before trailing back behind his ear.

"I know," Izaya says again, just as quiet as before.

"It's not supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be the one..."

"I know."

.

.

.

* * *

.

yes i am still writing. i have the next two chapters written, but they are not yet edited.

the next chapter will be _extremely_ heavy. i cried writing it. and that's saying something.

still working.

nearing the end; a few more chapters to go. should be 8 altogether. there will also be a companion one-shot to be posted after this is finished, from izaya's perspective. its almost done as well.

**please tell me your thoughts so far. it makes writing this worth it.**

.


	6. to blame

**.  
**

**.**

**with nothing to blame**

**.**

It takes Shizuo nearly six days to actually work up the will to come back to the hospital in Shinjuku; his most dreaded destination, despite the fact that it's his choice, and he can no longer bring himself to stop going. Izaya smiles at him when he enters the room, but otherwise he stays silent. They don't talk about their last encounter, and Shizuo's thankful for it. He doesn't know what to say, how to address this issue, because when it comes to Izaya, everything is always spur of the moment and impulsive.

Shizuo never knows whats going to happen, what either of them will say and what will result in it. They're strangers to each other, and as such, don't know how to react to one another. Like meeting a stranger at the bus station, both are cautious and hesitant; awkward and unsure. Never being able to predict the others reaction or thought process.

He sits down in the bedside chair with the new magazine he'd snatched from the waiting room downstairs; he didn't look at the cover, and now realizes it's for women. He frowns to himself but pretends to read it anyway while he keeps it open on his lap. Izaya stays looking away from him; stares contemplatively out the window that garners most his interest nowadays. Shizuo glances up at him for a moment, notes the thin eyebrows knitted together in something akin to distress.

There's bruising wrapped around Izaya's throat, and he can't help but wonder what the man must have told his doctor. The staff must have noticed the blue and purple marks decorating his neck from where Shizuo attempted to strangle him in his previous visit.

Shizuo flicks his eyes down to the floor before he can further regulate that thought as he frowns and he leans back in his chair, making to dig his phone out of his pocket. No calls, no texts, but that doesn't make his chest hurt any less. Kasuka still hasn't contacted him, and Shizuo figures eight unanswered calls and three voice messages should've been enough. Still nothing.

Sighing at the slightly hinted feeling of rejection, Shizuo tucks his phone back away and looks up to see Izaya watching him curiously. The brunet doesn't say anything, however, but he knows the unspoken question, something that surprises him. Two weeks ago he wouldn't have known the slightest shift in Izaya's body language; wouldn't have known how to go about reading it at all.

"My brother," Shizuo says. "...I'm just waiting for him to call me back."

Izaya nods a little at that, and turns his head back away. The sun is shining bright outside; illuminating everything in a saturation of color, the air still and clear; the window is open and let's in a fresh gust with every breeze and Shizuo can't stop himself from wanting to know.

"Izaya, does anyone visit you?"

"You're here," the brunet murmurs lightly after a few beats of a delayed response. His gaze is carefully diverted.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Shizuo replies, making careful to keep his voice in check.

Izaya smiles wistfully, and the blond can tell the bordering sadness that envelopes it. The former informants ability to conceal his emotions and thoughts have deteriorated along with his physical state. Raw and exposed; it'd be so easy to do or say anything to him. He's not capable of pretending, or fighting anymore. More than that; Shizuo is getting better at picking up the things Izaya doesn't say with his words.

"At first," he starts, voice soft and serene. "When I was first diagnosed... Shinra and Celty visited me a few times. That... was months ago, however."

"You haven't -... No one else has come since then?"

A breathy laugh is his answer at first, and Izaya shakes his head before looking over at the blond with a sad acceptance and an ironic smile. "You say that as if I actually have friends."

Shizuo furrows his eyebrows and decides not to comment on that. "What about your family, then? Your sisters?"

"I haven't told them where I am. I don't want them to see me, not yet."

Pales fingertips grip lightly at blue covers and Izaya's smile slowly falls from his face. Shizuo can't tell if it's from lack of will to keep up a facade, or if he's simply growing too tired to procure facial expressions at the moment.

"You haven't... told you family?"

"No," Izaya sighs a little. "I've told them my diagnosis, and my... and how long I have. But, I've not told them what hospital I'm at."

"Why would you – why the fuck would you do that?" Shizuo demands, whilst trying to keep his voice at a level tone. The more their visit wears on, the more it grates on him. Even in his death bed, Izaya still manages to make Shizuo feel pissed.

Izaya doesn't seem surprised by the burst of words, but he gives a small smile and a huff of a laugh, regardless. He falls quiet for a moment, and his eyes lower as his expression steadily falls into something more somber. He turns his face away, and stares down at the blankets on his bed and gathers himself before he speaks, voice soft and low.

"You wouldn't understand, Shizuo," he decides on saying. "I can't – I don't want them here."

"Christ," Shizuo spits and stands while he stands with the magazine held down at his side. "What is it with you? Huh? You're the most selfish fucking bastard I've ever come in contact with."

"I know," Izaya responds, almost immediately. He looks up rather unhappily but doesn't say anything more about it; doesn't make an excuse for himself. "Just another thing that makes us opposites, you know."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Shizuo mutters as he paces a few steps away, setting the magazine on the windowsill.

Izaya doesn't elaborate his words as the debt collector stares back at him with every hint the aggravation, and brunet merely lets out a sigh in response. Shizuo looks down at that, breaking their eye contact; something that never seems to last for long anyway, not that Izaya blames him. They're both new at this – this communication between them. It's foreign, and so easy to misinterpret each other.

"I'm scared," Izaya finally says, drawing the blonds attention once more. He voices the fear with a soft smile, one that makes his cheeks ache and his eyes sting. He watches the line of Shizuo's throat as he swallows thickly and turns away.

"Yeah," Shizuo murmurs in response, his voice low enough that it's nearly inaudible. He tilts his head down as he braces his hands on the windowsill, tired and unmoving as his gaze follows a pack of birds just outside that nip and circle each other playfully as they flutter past the glass pane.

Izaya watches the blonds tense back sadly from where he sits on his hospital bed, a deep sorrow ebbing into his expression as the two of them lapse into a silence.

"Do you want to go outside?" Shizuo finally asks without looking over at him, his gaze hard, voice rough and strained.

.

* * *

_with your hands in the air_

* * *

.

It's a bit chilly outside but the bright shine of the sun warms his back and the sky is crystal clear. Shizuo closes his eyes and breathes deep the fresh air and scent of grass and trees. The park is something simple, meant for patients with an extended stay at the hospital. Those that are physically able, are allowed to have the occasional visit outside with nurses standing watch in case of emergencies. He grips his fingers against the handles of the wheelchair for a moment; securely as they come to a stop near the shade of a tree. It happens before he even registers it – Shizuo had made a beeline towards shade out of concern of the sun bothering Izaya in some way; the brightness of it all, he he didn't realize until they'd come to a stop.

Izaya's got a dark blue and green checkered print blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and another one in his lap. Sitting in the wheelchair out in the sunlight, Shizuo can make out the definite contrast. The paleness of the mans skin and the dark pressed shadows under his eyes, the bruising on his neck. Izaya's never looked like such an invalid before.

Scratching as his neck as he turns away, Shizuo takes a few steps forward so his back is to the brunet. He rests his hands on his hips and tries hard not to think about what a fucked up situation this is.

"It's beautiful out here," Izaya remarks and his tone is almost ranging on something considerably normal. The blond half-turns to look back at him, and he's greeting with a shy smile that looks so, so wrong on such an ill man.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly, and doesn't add any more to it.

"Shizuo," the brunet says to catch his attention. There's something desperate in his tone, so Shizuo drops his hands and turns around properly to assess him. Izaya's face is tilted down, and one pale, boney hand is fiddling with the frayed edges of the dark checkered blanket around his shoulders. He looks like he obviously wants to say something, but he's biting his tongue.

"When was the last time you were outside?" Shizuo questions as a way to divert to conversation away from what he knows was going to be a dangerous topic.

Izaya pauses at his words and blinks up at him, squinting a bit in a way that says his eyes are far too sensitive to sunlight from having gone so long without adjusting to it. "I guess... since I was first admitted. A few months."

The debt collector makes a noncommittal noise at that, and resists the urge to dig out his cigarettes. Even if he knows his smoking won't have much effect on Izaya – the man's dying, after all – he knows the nurses standing watch of the patients will tell him off. This is a no smoking area.

Izaya opens his mouth, making to start speaking as he glaces up, but he falls short and lets it out with a heavy exhale. His fingers tighten briefly around one of his blankets before falling slack again, and Shizuo can see the energy visibly leaving the man. The simple act of coming outside has worn him out.

"Shizuo," Izaya starts again, and Shizuo braces himself. "I don't..."

"You don't have to say anything," the blond states in a lowered voice; he knows what's coming and he doesn't want to hear it.

"I need to say it, okay? I'm sorry, but I have to."

Shizuo's mouth twists at the words before he lets his expression fall back into indifference. The maggot is actually sincerely apologizing for something he's going to say.

"Shizuo, I'm..." The words can't seem to make it out properly, and Izaya keeps his face down as he tries to speak again. "You're not... I..."

"I know, Izaya," Shizuo insists, quietly.

"No, you don't," he responds and fingers tighten into weak fists and he shakes his head while he swallows thickly. His eyes burn and he takes a steadying breath, he looks like he's fighting something from surfacing and when he looks back up his eyes are too wet for Shizuo to look at, so he doesn't.

"Shizuo, none of this is your fault."

"We're not having this conversation," the blond immediately cuts in, talking over the other before he'd even finished speaking.

"No; you need to hear this!" Izaya insists, and his voice raises to better make the debt collector hear him. "You're running away from the issue, Shizuo, and this. This isn't something you can fix. This is set and stone and it's _going_ to happen."

"Shut up, Izaya," Shizuo growls in warning, tone soft and dark as he keeps his head turned away. "Just, shut up."

"It's going to happen," Izaya repeats. "It's going to happen, Shizuo, and it's not your fault."

"Just shut the hell up, okay?"

And Izaya does. He falls silent, and Shizuo keeps his gaze carefully averted. He watches a pair of squirrels scurry across the bark of a tree, chasing each other in some endless game. It seems almost nostalgic to him. There's a man in woman sitting on a bench across from the tree; the man is in a pair of hospital scrubs, clearly ill and weak and the woman has her arm wrapped tightly around him with their heads resting together while they talk.

He glances down at Izaya, who has his eyes closed with a troubled expression. Shizuo can makes out the shivering that run through him from underneath his blankets. It's too much for him, obviously – this; being out here in his condition. Having raised his voices in something akin to shouting – the adrenaline that likely followed. It's exhausting him.

"Want to go back in?" Shizuo asks him after a moment and he's not prepared for the hazy, pain filled eyes that look up at him. There's no voiced response, but the brunet gives a small nod of his head for affirmation.

Not waiting for anything further, the blond steps behind him where he resumes his grip on the wheelchairs handles. He turns them around to start their trek back into the hospital, but Izaya's voice causes him to momentarily pause in his long strides.

"Shizuo, I don't want to die," he whispers something meant only for the man standing behind him. "I really don't."

The blond in question stills and stares at the back of Izaya's brunet head and tries to process the words without failing.

"I'm really fucking scared," the former informant admits quietly, and Shizuo can hear the tell-tale tremors in his voice.

He doesn't think about the action, but merely lets it happen. Shizuo's fingers loosen their grip on the handles, and he reaches one arm further out, palm flattening on Izaya's blanketed shoulder in something drawing close to comfort. He rests his hand there for a brief moment and tries to ignore the way Izaya tilts his head a little towards it.

Pulling back, he takes hold of the bars once more and maneuvers them towards the hospital.

.

* * *

_youre waiting to finally be caught_

* * *

.

"Tell me something about yourself."

The silence is shattered by a soft, nearly inaudible voice. Izaya's maxed out on his painkillers and he stays immobile and half awake from where he sits on his bed; blue and white blankets pulled up to his chin as he stares blankly out the window. It's dark out; the sun nearly setting and his eyes are half open, his breathing slow and lax.

When he speaks, his voice is rough and scratchy from the amount of stomach acid that's washed over it throughout the day; according to one of his attending nurses, this is one of the worst weeks he's had so far. Shizuo himself has been in and out of the room since their adventure outside earlier in the afternoon; when Izaya starts to get violently sick, and calls for a nurse to aid the man and steps outside for a smoke.

Shizuo's hands, shaky from caged in nerves, gently turn the page of the magazine in his lap as he looks up to better view his former enemy. He scans over his body; taking in how complacent and doll-like he's become over the past few hours. The mere act of blinking seems to drain him of energy.

"You already know everything about me," the blond grunts back, looking back down to the article he pretends holds his interest.

"I know... your height, weight, natural hair color. I know your blood type. I know... that you have a massive sweet tooth and love dairy products. I know the average amount in your bank account. I know that," Izaya pauses and makes a visible effort to regain enough will to continue speaking as he gently tilts his head, brick-dusted eyes moving to meet a light brown. "I know... I know that you're violent, ill-tempered. I know that you hate me."

Shizuo lets out an unsteady huff and rubs at his neck while he closes the magazine. He moves to toss it back on the bedside table, and his gaze skitters over the brunets vital monitors; the beeping of the heart monitor so common and expectant that he almost never hears it anymore unless he thinks about it.

"That's – that's all, really. That's all I know about you."

"What do you want to know?" He questions, hesitant. His instincts tell him to remain guarded this is _Izaya_, after all. The pissant cockroach who'll leek anything and everything he digs up on others. He's probably just using this all as a ploy to dig up information on him. It's not safe to talk about anything personal with him, and yet, at the same time. This _isn't_ Izaya. This a rapidly decaying man whom wears the same face, but something inside – the wiring has been altered, and something has been broken.

"I don't know," Izaya murmurs, looking down. "Just – tell me something. Anything."

At a loss, Shizuo stays silent as he searches for words and topics. He can end this right now – tell Izaya to fuck off and walk away, but he doesn't. He can't anymore, not that he even knew how to begin with. He's already in too deep to call it quits.

"What's your favorite color?"

The question throws him off, and Shizuo immediately glaces up in surprise. Izaya's staring right back, meeting his gaze sadly with a small, tragic smile. All the reasons and warning signs inside his subconscious diminish at that look. He reminds himself – yet again; this is not the Izaya he knows. It's not.

"Blue," Shizuo finally responds, his words quiet and nearing a shyer tone.

Izaya exhales a deep breath, something skittering towards a laugh, and looks down at the blankets covering his form. "I figured you would be more of a red person, given how violent you always are."

Shizuo is silent to that at first, not knowing how to respond, but he shakes his head all the same and leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. "Izaya, I'm not," he starts and irritably has to find his words again. "I hate violence, I really do. I'm... I like peaceful things. Quiet things."

"I see," Izaya murmurs.

"It's one of the reasons I've always hated you so much. You talk _all_ the goddamn time. And you just – you were always twisting your words around, you know?" Shizuo explains. "There was never a clear answer with you, and everything you did, everything you were pissed me off. It – got under my skin, made me so full of anger and hate," he stops at that, rubbing a hand over his forehead and eyes as if to prevent himself from getting worked up over nothing. "You were always doing things to hurt people and ruin lives, like you did my own. You always did it without remorse."

"So you're what, a 'Gentle Giant', then?" Izaya questions, keeping the same soft and curious tone he's maintained over the past few hours, ignoring the last part of the other mans statement.

"Well, no – I mean. I'm, I'm violent. I know that," the blond continues on, briefly noting to himself that he's spilling his guts to the person he's supposed to hate; the person he _does_ hate. "I just... I don't _want_ to hurt people. I want to live peacefully. I want to help and protect others - I want to be good. But... things happen, and those things piss me off. And, when I get mad, it's like my body runs on auto-pilot; and, I can't control it. And... it makes me hate myself," he admits, keeping his gaze locked on the tiled floor beneath his feet.

When he's met with silence, Shizuo raises his eyes to find the former informant giving him a very soft smile, eyes a bit wet as he strains a tiny laugh. It's not mocking – he's not smiling in amusement, but there's something mirror very deep regret on his sullen features.

"This is exactly what I meant when I said I don't know you," Izaya says, looking away as his eyebrows knit together. "Shizuo, I've always thought of you as a monster."

"I know," the blond replies, but Izaya continues on.

"But... you're really not a monster, are you?"

Shizuo freezes at that, cautious to speak and he keeps his mouth shut as he waits for the brunet to elaborate.

Izaya turns his face away as he takes a brief moment before he speaks. His cheek is brushing the blankets pulled up to his chin, but Shizuo knows that even with the layers, the man is still cold. He can see it in the way he keeps himself huddled, the slow beating of the heart monitor doing little to tell him otherwise.

"You're a contradiction. You want to live peacefully, yet you're the incarnation of violence. I've always thought you to be a horrible person, worse than me. But, I can see now, and I get it," Izaya says quietly, before looking over at the blond to speak more seriously. "You're a good person aren't you, Shizuo? You have a good heart; a good soul."

Shizuo opens his mouth to respond, but thinks better of it. He lowers his eyes, sadly and takes a moment to think. Coming to a small decision with himself, he shakes his head.

"I'm not a good person," he disagrees. "I'm really not. I've hurt so, so many people."

"But you feel remorse for it. That alone is a very human reaction, something a monster wouldn't be able to express. A true monster wouldn't care for others well-being; they'd see someone hurt and laugh and not care. So, I guess, in the end," Izaya smiles ruefully as he avoids the other mans gaze. "I guess I was the monster all along, wasn't I?"

"My first crush," Shizuo starts before he realizes the words that come out of his mouth. "she, um. She was an older woman – motherly, and she was always nice to me and my brother. I started having this kind of... school boy crush on her."

Izaya, not put off by the sudden change in subject, turns his head to better view the man as he listens. "What happened to her?" He questions, softly.

"I hurt her," the blond states, light brown eyes dejected and troubled as he recounts the past. "There were these guys in her store harassing her – some stupid assholes and when I saw it... it made me so, so angry. I just... lost it. I beat the fuckers down, and destroyed her store by accident. I went overboard, lost all control... and when it was all over, I realized that during it all, I accidentally hurt her along with those thugs."

"I'm sorry," Izaya murmurs back in response, but he understands what Shizuo's trying to say. He's trying to grasp at straws, give an explanation behind why he's such an awful person, and it's a depressing thing to listen to. "You know, Shizuo, I've never had a crush on anyone," he admits.

Blinking in surprise, the blond furrows his eyebrows. "You had girls hanging over you all the time in high school, they were practically your harem," is his response, as if it's actually supposed to mean something.

"I've never had a crush, and I've never been in love," Izaya continues. "I've never had an actual relationship with anyone, at all."

Something inside of him hurts at hearing that, but Shizuo doesn't voice it. He frowns softly and keeps his mouth shut as he listens.

"It's not that I didn't have anyone," the brunet says. "I had a lot of girls, like you said. I got confessions right and left, but... I just, wasn't interested. It was all too intimate – too invading, for me. I'm incapable of experiencing that sort of intimate connection with others."

Izaya tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling, contemplative, and Shizuo scrubs a had over his mouth, resting it there as he focuses his gaze on the IV cord winding up into Izaya's blankets, no doubt attached to the thin arm underneath the cocoon of covers. He doesn't know what to say; doesn't understand just how things got this personal, so quickly. Yet, at the same time, his mind tells him that it doesn't matter – Izaya is dying. Anything said to him won't matter within the next few weeks because he'll be wiped clean from the world.

"I feel regret," Izaya says at last, his voice soft, and when Shizuo looks up, he can see the former informants eyes are a bit too wet. "When I look back, I feel so much regret. The way I treated people – the way I treated you."

"Well, you should," Shizuo says instantly, and nearly flinches at his own sharp words. Izaya doesn't seem to mind, however, and the smile that graces his lips is as sad as always. Shizuo doesn't take back his statement, because he doesn't see the need to apologize for how he feels.

"You have all the reason to hate me, after everything I've done," the brunet discloses and his smile falters as he speaks. "I thought I understood the world, how people worked. I thought... I thought I was so goddamn _smart_," he says, and his tone is nearing into bitterness. "I saw entertainment in it all. Messing with people, you know? And I thought you were the most entertaining to tease and poke, like a caged animal," he shakes his head, and the smiles slowly fades from his lips. "It's funny how knowing your own expiration date can suddenly make things so clear. Now, I get what's truly important – I understand, and... know that before, before I knew nothing. I still know nothing, but... I think I understand a little better, at least."

And suddenly – just like that; Shizuo understands something. No one will ever hate Izaya as much as Izaya hates himself.

"Why did you attack me that day when we met?" Shizuo asks after a beat of silence.

Izaya lets out a breathy laugh before he turns to better view him. "I'd heard all about you from Shinra. He told me how powerful you were, and as I said before, I wanted to team up with you. I wanted to see first hand just how strong you were, so I arranged that test with getting a bunch of our classmates to fight you. Afterward, though, you were anything but kind to me – not that I blame you. I could see in your eyes just how much you detested me, and, now I get why. You hate violence, and I was making you commit it, is that right?"

Shizuo looks down and doesn't answer the question, and he watches as a thin wrist reveals it's self from under Izaya's blankets, lifting up so that boney fingers can rub a bit at his temple.

"Well," the brunet continues on, quietly while closes his eyes."it was around that point that I realized I would never gain you as an ally. So, why not make you an enemy? It was fun watching you lose it over nothing, at least that's how I felt at the time. I knew you were tough, so a little cut to the chest wouldn't do much harm, and I was right. At some point, somewhere along the line... I think I – I think _we_, lost ourselves. It started as something simple, something easy. A game, you know? But it escalated. It got worse and worse until I just... Until I forgot why I hated you so much. I had to invent these reasons, draw out specific flaws and characteristics about you that I disliked, and I exaggerated them."

"Yeah," Shizuo murmurs in agreement, watching steadily at the way the brunet's eyes remain closed, fingertips tapping and rubbing lightly at his own temple. He looks partly ready to fall asleep; maxed out on pain medication. "You should go to sleep."

Izaya's eyes flutter open at that, and he looks unreadably at the blond before speaking. "I'd rather not," he says softly. "Sleeping is a waste of time, which is something I haven't got much left of."

They fall silent after that as Shizuo stares down at the floor and Izaya's watches him with an expression bordering on sympathetic. The blond stands and crosses the room quietly, not acknowledging the sad eyes that follow his movements. He stops in front of the single window where he leans against the pane, taking in the beauty of the night sky; dark purples and blues with tiny dots of white that shine dimly.

Part of him wishes he could tug Izaya over here with him to point out the stars and ask what constellations are visible, because he knows the man is a smart-ass who probably know all of them by heart.

If Izaya were still the maggot of an informant he once knew, Shizuo would just get laughed at.

_"Silly Shizu-chan,"_ he can hear the mans condescending voice in his head. _"we're in the city, stars are not visible here due to all the lights. What you're seeing are just orbiting satellites, not that your protozoic mind would understand that."_

Something inside of Shizuo breaks at that thought, and he lowers his head while letting out a sarcastic huff of a laugh. His bangs shadow his eyes as he shakes his head, grinning softly while a pressure builds up in his ears and he can feel his throat tightening.

"Shizuo?" Izaya calls, his voice curious at the sudden break in silence.

The blond in question laughs again as he raises his head to stare out the window. Who is this dying man that calls him by his first name? Who the fuck is he?

Another laugh makes it past his lips but this one sounds more akin to a stifled sob than anything, and Shizuo can't help it as he wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, itchy warm tears brushing away.

"This is stupid," he says, turning to face the former informant head on, who merely watches him sadly with a frown. "This is so fucking stupid."

"Hey, it's okay," Izaya says to him and Shizuo cannot fight back the laugh that follows that, or streak of a tear that follows it, something he immediately rubs away.

"Fuck you, Izaya," Shizuo asserts with another shake of his head; wistfully as if trying to deny something. "Just... fuck you," he says and crosses the room in long strides, making towards the door without stopping in the slightest.

"Are you coming back?" He hears Izaya's hesitant voice drift from behind his back, but he blatantly ignores it as he exits the room.

It's the last thing he ever hears Izaya say.

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* * *

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sorry for that month delay. i know some of you were upset over it, judging by what you've told me. i am sorry, though. i work fulltime and don't have much of a window for writing, anymore. when i am able to sit and write, i just feel... unmotivated, i guess.

having ya'll kick me in the ass does wonders, though. every time i get messages that makes me guilt-trip, i start writing. so i guess, thank you guys for leaving messages/reviews that make me feel horrible for not writing - no, seriously. it motivates me. tell me you're pissed about the lack of updates and i write quicker. it's weird.

uh, so yeah.

please feel free to give me a jump-start kick in the ass.

i makes all this worth it, and i makes me want to write.

**EDIT-**

**no, this is not the last chapter. as i said before, there will be eight altogether. two more chapters to go.**


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